The apartment felt like a pressure cooker all day.

Priya moved with calm purpose—cleaning toys, setting up fresh cameras (one more hidden in the bookshelf), testing angles, adjusting lighting so every detail would be crystal clear on the stream. She wore only a short silk robe—untied—flashing skin every time she bent or stretched. Rohan and I followed her orders in silence: stocking lube, charging the vibrator, laying out restraints on the coffee table like offerings.